


I’ll Be the Moon

by GypsyUpir



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Roman, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 06:42:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20652869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyUpir/pseuds/GypsyUpir
Summary: Prequel to “Rainbow Child”





	1. Darkness Brings Evil Things

The news had spread throughout the town like uncontained wildfire, the mangled girl that was found in the park. 

The misfortune of one local jogger brought her to the authorities’ attention, finally discovered after spending what would be her final night in the floor of a child-sized playhouse. Her identity was deciphered in less than an hour. There may not have been much left of her by way of torso or lower extremities, but her face was left untouched. 

Brooke Bluebell, a high school senior who was captain of the cheerleading squad and in the running for class valedictorian. Word around the school was she’d just been accepted into NYU to study art and world literature. What a shame. 

No sooner was the body discovered did the speculation and rumors begin to fly. Her car had been found parked right in front of the railroad tracks, the driver side door wide open and the keys still in the ignition. Kidnapping seemed the most likely scenario, and everyone checked off the usual list of theories; attempted mugging gone wrong, a jilted lover takes revenge, run of the mill creeper finishing someone just for the thrill. 

But after seeing the state the body was in, that theory went out the window. No one in their right mind believed that a human being could be capable of such brutality. She was practically in shreds, only an animal could’ve done that. But what kind of animal? And how did it get to her?

The rumor mill at school had been especially vapid, as everyone wanted to feel important for five minutes and act like they knew something. The hallways were rampant with gossip: 

_ “I heard it was a bear...ya know, one of those giant grizzlies.”  _

_ “A bear can’t open car doors, you fucking idiot! It was probably like bobcat or something.”  _

_ “Bears can too open doors! What do you think they have paws for?”  _

_ “Whatever, I still say bobcat or a cougar. Or maybe a wolf.” _

_ “Do we even have cougars in Pennsylvania?” _

_ “Did you hear they couldn’t find any of her organs? Like, not a single one. They were all eaten.” _

_ “Fucking gross.” _

Between the mindless prattle and the incessant crying of cheerleaders, Roman Godfrey was about to blow his brains out. School was already a nuisance as it was, but now it was practically unbearable. It had only been three days, but several times, he’d entertained the notion of dropping out completely, just so he could escape it. His mom would take  _ that _ well, he was sure. 

Though he was completely annoyed with the whole mess, one thing, and one thing only, had peaked his interest.

The wild animal attack angle stuck with the students and the staff members who whispered about it in their free time. The speculation of what type of animal had changed several times over the days, but now, the choices had seemed to dwindle down to only one. 

And it was totally ridiculous, utterly preposterous...or was it?

There was a new boy, one they called a “gypsy”...and a “freak”, if Roman had to be totally honest. He’d spotted him for the first time just the other morning while he was outside chain smoking before the first bell of the day rang. Right in the middle of a migrating pack of students, there he was, following in the crowd without the slightest hint of not knowing where he was going.

Roman’s sights had zeroed in on this boy instantly, something he couldn’t put a finger on catching his eye. He’d never seen him before, that was all. He was a stranger.

As if feeling Roman’s eyes on him, the boy shot a glance in his direction, their gazes holding each other for an unnatural amount of time. Slowly, Roman removed the moist tip of the cigarette from his lips, letting the smoke drift lazily from his mouth. The boy watched him steadily as he continued to walk, eventually turning to look ahead when most of the crowd seemed to be passing him. 

Roman hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until the boy had walked out of sight.

“Rumancek”, they said his name was, and Roman was pretty sure he knew that name. Last he knew, a Vince Rumancek lived in a trailer just on the outskirts of Kilderry park, not far from where the Bluebell girl had been found. An interesting piece of the puzzle, if you asked him.

His mother was “in business” with this Vince, what that business entailed, he didn’t know, nor did he want to. But he did know that this boy  _ had _ to be related to Vince in some way. He probably even lived in the same trailer with him. 

Roman had at first considered it purely coincidence that the Bluebell girl ended up murdered right after the Rumancek kid showed up. Why would anyone be so quick to link him to something like that? What could possibly give them a reason to? Was it a universal rule that the new guy always had to be suspect-number-one and he’d missed it?

The answer to that question came quickly enough: Christina Wendall. 

The rumor had started with her, that this gypsy boy was more than meets the eye. She opened her mouth and in time, everyone was saying that he was a werewolf…an honest to God, for real “turns by the light of a full moon” monster. 

Roman was the first to call bullshit on it. Like he’d go off the word of some spastic little freshman bitch with an overactive imagination. 

But something was weirdly mysterious and enticing about this boy to him, and he felt it with an intensity he’d never experienced before. It was strangely exciting to him, almost as if part of him wanted the rumor to be true...or he  _ needed _ it to be. 

This overworking intrigue is what leads him to where he is tonight, trailing the gypsy boy as he walked toward the woods of Kilderry Park. 

The worst part was Roman couldn’t even rationalize what he was doing. He knew what any person with half a brain would think; he was a creep, a stalker... _ he _ was the murderer! 

But all reasoning seemed to be blurred behind the foreground of Roman’s newly obsessive thoughts. He had to know something,  _ anything _ about this strange boy, werewolf or no werewolf.

He’d gotten the impulse to follow the boy after he first spotted him at the downtown “Five & Dime” before dark. Roman would use just about any excuse in the book to get out of his house, even if it meant simply driving to a random part of town and parking for a few hours. 

As if by a touch of fate, he’d happened to be parked along the side of the street opposite the store when he saw the boy pop out of the front door, sipping on a bottle of vintage root beer as he took off down the sidewalk. 

Something hot began to stir in Roman’s gut as he watched him, knowing he now had the perfect opportunity to find out what he so adamantly needed to know. He took off on foot from there. 

A mile and a half later, they end up in Kilderry Park, Roman puzzling as the boy comes to stop right in front of the crime scene. The playhouse that harbored Brooke Bluebell’s corpse was still roped off with yellow police tape, but the boy doesn’t seem to care. 

Roman lingers behind, hiding himself beneath the shadows of the trees, and watches as the boy gets down on his knees and runs his hands through the sandy dirt that surrounds the playhouse. 

The boy brings a handful of dirt up to his nose, giving it a light sniff before letting it slip delicately through his fingers and back onto the ground. He looks up to the sky, a hard question written on his face as he peers at the stars, as if he expects them to give him an answer. 

Just as quickly, he is back on his feet and about to continue on his way when Roman hastily follows after him, the question leaving his mouth before he can think about it.

“What did it feel like?” 

The boy stops and turns around, his eyes narrowing cautiously as he takes Roman in. Roman feels his heart pounding against his rib cage as the boy looks at him, acknowledges him. 

“What did  _ what _ feel like?” The boy asks.

Roman blinks. “Killing that girl.”

The boy’s brows knit together with confusion. 

“I didn’t kill her,” he says. “I thought it was you.”

Roman’s mouth slacks open, bewilderment slapped across his face. “Me? Why would I do it??”

“Why would I?” The boy shrugs throwing Roman’s question back. 

“People say you’re a werewolf,” Roman replies lamely. 

“You believe everything you hear?”

Roman shakes his head before looking down at the ground. “I don’t know.”

They stand there, letting the nightly songs of frogs and crickets fill the silence around them as their gazes fall on the playhouse. The girl’s blood had dried all along the doorway and floor of it, appearing almost black in the darkness. Roman heard her death had been gruesome, he just wasn’t expecting  _ this _ . 

The boy motions toward the playhouse. “Did you know her?” He asks. 

Roman shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I knew her, but I didn’t  _ know _ her, ya know?”

The boy nods, seeming to understand.

“I’d see her sometimes, like at parties and stuff,” Roman continues. “She liked my car.”

“It’s a nice car,” the boy replies. 

Roman studies him for a moment, wondering how he would know anything about his car...which led him to also wonder if the boy  _ knew _ he followed him from the “Five & Dime”.

“Are you  _ sure _ it wasn’t you?” Roman asks.

“You could try to contain your disappointment,” the boy says flatly, giving him a pointed look. 

About that time, Roman’s eye catches a vehicle coming down the hill toward them, and before he can get a good look at it, blue and red lights begin flashing on top of it. The siren whoops a couple of times before parking with the headlights pointed directly at them. 

The boy nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Shit!” he spits, whipping around and preparing to bolt into the woods.

Roman holds out a hand to stop him. “No, don’t run. Don’t run,” he says. “I got this.”

He saunters over to the police car, an officer stepping out on either side and shining their flashlights in his face.

“It’s that Godfrey kid,” one of them says to the other, the disgust clear in his tone.

“Good evening, officers,” Roman says contemptuously. 

The skinny officer from the driver’s seat raises his flashlight so it’s shining right into Roman’s eyes. 

“You mind telling us what the hell it is you’re doing out here, and on a school night, no less?” The officer sniffs.

“I’m a night owl,” Roman replies simply. 

The other officer, a portly guy who seemed to wheeze with every little move, points his flashlight into Roman’s face as well. 

“Gee, I hope I’m not being a disturbance,” Roman smirks. 

“You mean aside from disturbing a dead girl’s murder site?” The skinny officer sneers. 

The porky officer then points the beam of his flashlight over Roman’s shoulder. 

“Who’s your little friend back there?”

The skinny officer glances in the boy’s direction. “Looks like that gypsy kid,” he says. 

“Now, what could you two little birdies possibly be hatching out here that we might look upon favorably?” The portly officer asks. 

Roman looks at him cooly. “We’re just talking.”

“About what?” The officer pushes.

“Oh...the wonder and mystery of death,” Roman grins cheekily.

“Okay, that’s it,” the skinny officer growls impatiently, roughly grabbing Roman by the arm. “Let’s go, you little smartass.”

Roman snaps his head to look at him, his eyes wide and unblinking. “But my old lady is gonna be a pain in the balls.”

The officer’s eyes lock onto his, his face frozen in some kind of trance as the two stare at each other for an uncomfortably long time. 

“Ya know, on second thought,” the officer finally mutters lifelessly. “His old lady’s gonna be a pain in the balls.”

The other officer blanches at his partner in disbelief. “What??”

“It’s true,” Roman assures him. 

Skinny reaffirms, “It’s true.” 

And with that, he turns around and heads back to the police car, his partner looking confused and angry and disappointed all at once. 

He gives Roman a final sneer before heading back to the car himself. “Spooky fucker…”

Roman turns around to see the boy still standing there, his eyes wide and mouth agape as he watches the police car back up along the hill until it was out of sight. 

“How did you do that??” The boy demands. 

“Do what?” Roman smirks. Then, he feels a sudden warmth trickling down his lip from his left nostril. He quickly swipes at it, looking down to see his fingers dripping with fresh blood. 

The boy apparently sees this as his features seem to ripple with a newfound fear. 

Roman wipes the rest of the blood away. “It’s fine,” he sniffs. “Just...the dry air.”

The boy eyes him in a way that is almost untrusting, but the look is short lived. Roman moves forward, closing the space between them, his skin warming as he feels the boy’s eyes following him. 

“Thanks…” The boy clears his throat. “The fuzz’s been sniffing around my place since I got here.”

Roman scoffed. “Don’t worry about them. They’re the fucking Keystone Cops of Hemlock.”

At this, the boy lets out a laugh, and the sound makes Roman’s stomach flutter. Suddenly, the boy thrusts his hand forward. 

“I’m Peter.”

Roman pauses for a moment, not used to such formalities being extended to him. Most people choose to stay out of his way and pay him no mind, which he was more than okay with. 

But the gypsy boy - Peter - showed no hint of the intimidation he usually brought out in people, and he was nothing short of grateful. He wanted this boy to like him. He didn’t know why, he just did. 

“Roman…” he says, reaching out and taking Peter’s hand. 

The boys shook hands and looked at one another earnestly, both wondering if the other felt the sudden shift in the air around them, but not daring to speak of it. 


	2. Child, Don’t Follow Me Home

The vividness of the dream was what woke him so early, leaving him feeling distressed and fearful while the rest of the world continued to sleep.

Staring up at the ceiling, Peter couldn’t shake the formidable image from his mind. Not even closing his eyes could make it go away; a serpent, black as midnight, beginning to devour itself from the tail and continuing to eat until there was nothing remaining but it’s still chewing head. 

It made him shudder. What the hell did it mean?

Though the dream itself was weird, the fact that he was having a weird dream to begin with had suddenly become the norm since he and his mom had blown into town. There was something... _ off  _ about this place. 

And not just the place itself, but the people in it as well. It was a heaviness you could just feel in the air around you, like a building storm cloud that lingered and followed you wherever you went, threatening to strike you with lightning if you let your guard down too much. 

It wasn’t that Peter felt “unsafe” here. He certainly wouldn’t say he was welcome, but that wasn’t anything he hadn’t felt in any place he’d been dragged to over the years. No matter where he and his mother went, they were seen as nothing but sheisty vagabond trash. 

That was the life of a gypsy, he supposed; you weren’t to be welcomed and you sure as hell weren’t to be trusted.

This ill-informed mistreatment is shitty anywhere, but in this weird ass town, it was even worse. And Peter knew it had everything to do with the dead girl they found in the park. He was used to being blamed for things like petty thievery or the practice of so called “witchcraft”. But murder was something else entirely.

The implication of his guilt was only made that more concrete by the fact that people were now calling him “the werewolf”. He could tell himself it was only because he sort of looked like your typical wolfman with his excessive amount of facial hair and fingernails that were a tad bit longer than they probably should have been, though that was due mostly to laziness on his part. 

But he knew it was because of that girl...Christina, or whatever the hell her name was.

Her grandparents lived just on the other side of the woods and she took the opportunity to basically stalk him over the summer. It seemed she was always lurking; it was a great risk just sitting out in the hammock to enjoy a beer.

He’d coined her as “Hemmingway”, as she had quite the imagination on her and talked incessantly about her plan to become some great novelist. Peter thought she’d make a much better investigative reporter, as her favorite thing to do was probe him about himself, claiming she yearned “inspiration”.

She was the first to accuse him of being a werewolf, which he had to admit, scared him at first. Did he make it so obvious? She wasn’t shy about it either, that was another thing about her that came to grate on his nerves. Boundaries seemed to be a foreign concept to her. 

“Are you a werewolf?” she’d blurted out one afternoon, amid waking him from a fairly decent nap in his hammock.

He looked at her solemnly, hoping the tiny spark of fear within didn’t show in his face. Eventually, he twisted his lips into a smirk. 

“Well, now I guess we know who your literary influences are,” he said. “Now are you gonna try to find some sparkling fairy-vampire to have a three-way with?”

She scrunched up her face. “Gross… But your index and middle fingers are the same length. They say that makes you a werewolf.”

At this, Peter blanched, holding up his hand in front of his face and spreading his fingers widely apart. And she was right; they were exactly the same length. 

His gaze bounced between her and his hand. “And where would you get an idea like that?”

“I don’t know… TV or something,” she shrugged. “So, are you?”

He began to dig at the dirt beneath his fingernails, trying to signal his waning lack of interest in continuing the conversation. Maybe if he indulged her a little, she’d get the hint and go away.

“Sure,” he said casually before glancing up at her. “Are you a retard?”

She frowned, looking almost hurt. “No…”

“Hmm…” Peter pursed his lips. “My heightened werewolf senses say otherwise.”

With a shake of her head, she looked at him crossly. “You’re not supposed to use that word.”

“Eh, you’re right,” Peter nodded. “‘Werewolf’ is pretty racist. I prefer “Sexy Man-Beast’.”

“I meant ‘retard’,” she blinked.

“I know what you meant.”

He’d promptly tried to drop the subject and seek sanctuary in the trailer as soon as he could, but not before she informed him he was “weird” but gave her “good material”, whatever that meant.

Well, it seemed now he knew what it meant. He just never imagined she would actually go around telling people, and he sure as hell didn’t count on people believing her. But she had and they did, and now he was royally fucked. 

How convenient it was for a gruesome murder to occur the exact same week they’d rolled into town. Being called “Suspect Number One” was becoming an understatement at this point.

Then...there was this Roman kid. Peter didn’t know what the hell to think of that. Like everyone else, he’d believed Peter to be responsible for the girl’s death. More than that, it was almost as if he wanted him to be, like he got some kind of hard-on over the idea. 

The possibilities weighed heavily in Peter’s mind. He was fairly sure Roman had followed him into the park that night, but why? What did he have to prove?

Maybe it was as simple as Roman wanting to be the “hero” of the tragedy, finding the real culprit and putting them away as they rightfully deserved, opening for him a gate of never-ending gratitude and praise.

But...Peter didn’t feel that was Roman’s motive; a kid like that gets enough attention. This was something else, like a primal need the other boy yearned to be fulfilled. 

Just like Roman had implicated him, Peter initially thought Roman to be responsible for the girl’s murder. The relief he felt when Roman was convinced otherwise was a surprise to him, like he hadn’t realized how crucial it was for someone to take him at his word. And maybe...that’s what Roman was searching for, too. 

Roman was odd, he’d gathered that much, an obvious outcast despite the social status of his name. Peter knew all too well what it was like to face such scrutiny. Perhaps that was why Roman was so quick to throw the accusation on Peter...so the guilt could be pinned on some other weirdo for once. 

But moreover, Peter wanted someone to believe he was innocent after all was said and done. And Roman probably wanted the same thing. They needed to believe in one another; so far, they were all they had. 

Finally, the images from the nightmare begin to dissipate from Peter’s memory and his eyelids grow heavy with the desire to sleep. As he drifted off, the only thing he could see in his mind was Roman, standing before him that night with a smile as a faint trickle of blood ran from his nose.

~*~*~*~

School, as per usual, had been an abysmal bore the following day, a fact that wasn’t helped by Peter’s lack of sound sleep. The final bell of the day rang and he practically sprinted from the classroom, eager to finally be outdoors and wakened by the sunshine. 

He quickly retrieved his bag from his locker and turned to go down the hall when he spotted her, an almost impossible thing to miss, in his opinion. Roman Godfrey had a little sister, though “little” could only be used ironically in her case. 

Roman himself was well over six feet tall, but Shelley was closer to eight, towering over the rest of her classmates and unable to fit in any standard sized desk or even a school bus. She was, quite frankly, monstrous in appearance, but possessed one of the most gentle dispositions Peter had ever come in contact with. 

Her peers treated her as the formidable creature they saw her as and often mocked everything from her stature, her walk, and the wheezing way she sometimes breathed. They had a bonus advantage in the fact that she couldn’t even speak to defend herself. 

Accustomed to mistreatment in his own right, Peter observed this behavior and was appalled, vowing that he would instead befriend the poor girl. Everyone deserves to have at least one friend in this piece of shit world. She, of course, had Roman, but he seemed to be more of a lifeline or personal savior for her than he was anything else. 

Peter supposed that’s what siblings were for, but how the hell would he know? He was his mother’s lone baby.

Standing sheepishly against the wall of lockers, Shelley clutches her books close to her chest as she glances up and down the hallway, looking for Roman, Peter presumes. Her head swivels in his direction and her expression visibly brightens when she sees him walking her way. 

Peter gives her a big smile and raises a hand to her in hello as he draws near. She lifts a hand to him in return just as the stack of books Peter has in his hand is roughly knocked to the ground. 

_ “Wolf fucker!”  _ was then screamed in his ear by some hulking Neanderthal of a boy he sat behind in Lit class. The boy’s equally bulky and dense friend began to howl, kicking Peter’s books down hallway just as he knelt down to pick them up. 

The boys ran off in the opposite direction, still howling and whooping, and Peter watches as his books skid across the floor, stopping just beside Shelley Godfrey’s feet. 

He makes his way to her, her eyes wide with fear as she watches him. She begins frantically typing on her palm pilot, her only means of communication. 

“I’m sorry,” a robotic voice speaks from the device. 

Peter sighs and gives her a fatigued smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, gently moving her long, black bangs away from her eyes. “You’re too pretty.”

He bends down to pick up his books and he barely has his grip on them before a second pair of hands appear in front of him and pick them up for him. 

He glances up just as Roman is handing the pile of books to him and rising out of his squat. The boys lock eyes and Roman’s brow lowers into a hard scowl.

“Get your fucking hands off my sister,” he says.

Peter lets out a chuckle and turns to look back at Shelley, who just shakes her head with an amused, yet silent, giggle.

Roman’s frown deepens as his eyes turn dark, almost black. “Is this funny to you?”

The smile slipped from Peter’s face as he realized that perhaps he really did cross a line. That wasn’t his intention, but it made sense to him. How would he feel if some guy he didn’t know touched his little sister, even as innocently as he had?

He quickly shook his head “no” and opened his mouth to apologize when Roman’s face cracked with his own smile and he began to laugh. He reached out and playfully shoved Peter’s shoulder, making everything in Peter’s stomach loosen in relief.

“I’m just messing with you, man…” he chuckles. His laughter winds down and his eyes settle on Peter’s face, almost as if he’s trying to study him. Peter shifts uncomfortably on his feet, making himself look away.

“You want a lift home?” Roman suddenly asks. 

Peter’s eyes narrow at him in question. “Why?”

Roman shrugs, trying too hard to appear casual about it. “Whatever. Why not?”

He then turns his attention to Shelley, swiping a finger across her cheek and leaving what appeared to be a trail of shimmering blue light in its path. Peter blinked rapidly and gave his head a quick shake, certain that’s not really what he saw.

“I’ll be back in an hour to pick you up, Shel,” Roman says. “Show those wannabe’s what an artist really is.”

Shelley gave him a wide grin before turning and lumbering down the hallway toward the art room where the afterschool Art Club was held. Once again, the boys were alone, and a moment of awkward silence passed between them before Roman cleared his throat.

“So... A ride?” he inquires again. 

Peter steps back and takes a second or two to really look at him, to observe him the way he was sure Roman had done to him just a few seconds earlier. He tried to make it obvious that he was sizing him up, but Roman either didn’t seem to notice or wasn’t in the least bit phased. 

In fact, it was almost as if he brightened at Peter’s attention and welcomed it, which immediately caught Peter off guard and made him drop the alpha-male ficade.

Peter answers before he really has the chance to think about it. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I’d take a ride.”

“Cool,” Roman replies, spinning around on his heel and gliding down the hallway as Peter sheepishly follows. 

They make it out into the parking lot and Roman leads him to a little red 1957 Jaguar, unlocking it with the push of a button and stuffing his lanky stature inside. Peter looks over every inch of the car as floats over to the passenger side, his guts twisting uneasily as his suspicions are confirmed. 

This was the car sitting across from the “Five & Dime” the other night. Roman  _ had _ been following him.

Peter’s mind is second guessing his decision to get into a vehicle with him, but his body disobeys. The next thing he knows, the two of them are running 80 down a backroad on the opposite side of town, and Peter finds himself enjoying the ride he was so reluctant to take.

The car was a cherry, there was no room for doubt about that, and Peter couldn’t ever recall being in something this nice. The ride was dangerously smooth, almost as if there weren’t even a road beneath them. It was like they were gliding through air.

Roman put the top down so the cool wind of early September could whip through their hair, and the feeling was invigorating to Peter after spending the entire day in hazy, sleepless stupor. Neither of them said much at first, but as the afternoon breeze awakened them, they both began to talk, chatting about their home lives and personal philosophies as they cruised the outskirts of town.

It was strange for Peter, opening up like this. Normally, he was inclined to clam up and keep to himself; he was never one to willingly share and most people preferred to stay out of his kind of business as it was. 

But this...this felt different. It felt easy and almost necessary to share parts of himself with this boy he barely had any knowledge of other than his name. Talking to him was comfortable and felt...dare he say, safe.

He’d given Roman directions to his place along the way, though he was fairly sure Roman already knew where he lived. He could tell they were taking the extra long way just so they’d have more time to cruise around, which was more than okay with Peter. He’d spent most of his life traveling and wandering around, but never once had he experienced the leisure in it.

The trailer Peter lived in was nestled in a little valley that was carved into the woods of Kilderry Park. The main road that eventually led to the highway ran right above it. There was a rickety staircase built from the edge of the road down to the backyard that his Uncle Vince had built when he lived there years ago. 

Peter had at first thought it was oddly placed, but from Vince’s perspective, he supposed it made sense. Why walk through almost two miles of woods to circle around to the main drag when it ran right behind you?

Roman pulled the car up on the side of the road, placing Peter right in front of the top of the staircase. He parked and the two of them sat there quietly as the car idled. Peter gathers his books and grabs onto the door handle. He’s about to thank Roman for the ride when Roman suddenly speaks.

“I had a dream about that last night.”

Peter glances at him curiously and notices that Roman’s eyes are glued to the cover of the manilla folder Peter stuffed most of his homework into. Today, he was more unfocused than usual, his mind replaying the autocannibalism of the black snake from his dream. At one point, he must have figured that projecting the scene onto something else would finally relieve his mind of it. And that theory had seemed to work, until now. 

His eyes flitted up to Roman’s face to find his vibrant green eyes bearing into him, the intensity of his stare making Peter’s stomach quake.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Roman asks quietly.

Peter blinks at him before looking back down in his lap, studying his drawing of the serpent and cursing himself for not opting out of a lift home.

“What?” Peter replies, screaming at himself internally to shut up. He knows he shouldn’t engage in this any further, but his mouth couldn’t cooperate. 

“Whatever it is that’s down there,” Roman said simply, as if Peter understood what he was talking about. And even worse, Peter did understand. 

Peter stared straight ahead out of the windshield, hoping to appear as passive and uninterested as possible.

“The septic tank?” he shot off sarcastically.

But Roman just patiently shook his head. 

“Deeper…” he says. “I get this feeling sometimes. Like something really important is about to happen.”

Slowly, unconsciously, Peter turns his head to look at him and their gazes lock onto one another. He swears he sees something like a spark in Roman’s eyes as he once again gains Peter’s attention.

Peter forces himself to look away when he feels his stomach begin to tremble. It wasn’t a “bad” or unpleasant feeling, necessarily, but it was...foreign to him. Unsettling. 

It was the same feeling he had the last time he was around Roman, the night they met in the park. No one else he’d met in this town had instilled this in him. Hell, no one he’d ever met had. What was it about him in particular? 

As he stared back at Roman, his mind suddenly flashed back to that night at the park. Roman, bleeding from the nose as he reveled in his triumph at getting rid of the cops and looking at Peter as if he’d done it solely for him. Almost like he wanted to impress him, to be accepted by him.

The answer then struck him like a punch to the face. This kid was a fucking upir. 

Peter’s instincts told him immediately to get out of the car, all of his unease suddenly making perfect sense. His kind wasn’t to mix with the upir, he’d been warned that his entire life. And though his intrigue with Roman was surprisingly high, he couldn’t just backpedal on decades of legend and cautionary tales. 

But to hear Roman talk, it was almost as if...he didn’t know what he was. He was aware that he was different and certainly knew he was odd, but he seemed to be turning to Peter to tell him  _ why _ .

That was heavy, Peter thought. Too heavy for him, at least. He couldn’t give Roman any answers because he didn’t know them. He wasn’t sure he  _ wanted _ to know them.

“Thanks for the ride,” Peter says gruffly, opening the car door and swiftly slipping out.

As he stomps his way down the dilapidated staircase, he can feel the other boy’s eyes on him, carefully tracking every little movement he makes. The back of his neck catches fire at the notion of being watched, suddenly overwhelmed by another off-putting feeling that practically sends Peter’s mind into orbit. 

Roman Godfrey, this strange upir boy he barely knew, was intently watching every inch of him, and the burning heat in his body felt much more like pleasure than it did shame.


End file.
